


First Drink

by Evietan



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:26:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9807164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evietan/pseuds/Evietan
Summary: On his twentieth birthday, Yata realizes how alone he truly is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to write something about the period between season one and Missing Kings, we get glimpses of how bad Yata is feeling but it's shoved to the side pretty soon, so I wanted to elaborate on that!  
> This is just the mild, canon-compliant version, but I already made myself cry with this, so it's probably better I didn't go with a worse one.

By all accounts, it’s a normal day. The heat is blistering like any summer day, and Yata goes to work even though he’d rather stay in bed all day and do nothing. Everything is a drag and time passes incredibly slowly, but even that has become normal to him. One of his co-workers tries to talk to him, but Yata blows him off, claiming he’s tired and wants to go home. It’s true, of course, that’s his constant state of mind now.

When work is over, Yata goes straight home. He’s skating, but even that doesn’t bring the usual joy with it anymore, at best it’s a minor relief from the heat, at worst it’s exhausting because his legs feel like lead.

At home, there’s nothing to do and nobody waiting for him. He should cook, he knows that, but he ends up ordering takeout instead. Again. It’s not healthy, but it’s better than eating nothing at all, which is honestly what he feels like doing. The food doesn’t even taste like anything, Yata barely even realizes what it is he’s eating.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

He’s twenty today, a date he’s been looking forward to for years, but it’s just an ordinary day, just as terrible as all the other days. Nothing changed.

Nobody cares, either. Yata hasn’t gotten a single message from any of his friends yet. Last year, he’d have been absolutely sure everybody was planning a surprise party for him and he’d just have to go to the bar and all his friends would be there, waiting to celebrate with him.

This year, he knows better than to even hope. Kusanagi is still in Germany, Kamamoto is visiting his parents and Anna is with him, and most everyone else barely shows up at the bar anymore. He tries not to think about why Mikoto and Totsuka aren’t there.

He’s failing, hard, pictures of dead eyes and a sword dissipating into nothing flooding his mind against his will, when finally, his watch beeps. It’s a message from Akagi, and Yata opens it, grateful for the distraction.

_Hey, I’m sorry this is so late, but I’ve been super busy. Happy birthday! Hope you had a better day than me :)_

It’s not much, it’s barely anything at all, but it’s enough to kickstart whatever’s left of Yata’s engines. He jumps up, grabs his skateboard, and heads to the bar. It’s not like he’s expecting anything to be there, but it’s better than his stuffy apartment by far. As much as Bar Homra brings up bad memories, it still feels a lot more like home than any other place. At least it reminds him that he wasn’t always alone.

As expected, the bar is quiet and completely empty, Yata has to unlock the door himself. He always has the key with him, he’s the one coming there most often now, so it only makes sense, though Anna and Kamamoto have one each too.

Nostalgia wells up in Yata as soon as he enters, the bar dead and empty but full of memories. It’s liberating, calming and oppressive all at once.

He can almost hear his friends shouting ‘Happy Birthday’ and popping dumb party crackers at him, like they did the last few years. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten used to it. Maybe he’s just destined to always be left alone, no matter what he does or how much he believes he’s finally found his place to belong.

In the end, everyone leaves.

His mom has a new, better family now. Fushimi is with the Blues and his creepy King. His ‘friends’ from middle school never liked him in the first place. And even to Homra, the group of people he had dedicated the past few years to, he wasn’t important enough for them to stay.

Of course not. He’s annoying, stupid and weak. Pathetically clinging to the past while everyone else is moving on. Yata wouldn’t stay around for himself either.

As his gaze drifts through the bar, it lands on the alcohol behind the counter, perfectly sorted as ever and strictly out of his reach. He’s twenty now, though. Legally, he can have a drink. When the others turned twenty, Kusanagi always personally made them their first drink, and everyone was cheering them on as they downed their first glass.

Kusanagi isn’t here, but Yata can still continue that tradition all by himself. It’s what he’s doing with all of Homra’s traditions lately.

So Yata moves behind the counter, examining all the various bottles of liquid. He doesn’t really know anything about alcohol at all, and most of them only have foreign brand names on them, but he knows about percentages and chooses one that has a low amount of alcohol in comparison. There’s no need to get drunk if he’s not partying, after all.

He takes a glass, pours the light brown liquid in and gulps. This is it. He’s gonna become an adult now, right here, all alone. It would be funny, if he didn’t feel like crying.

Before the burn in his eyes can get worse, he downs half the glass in one go, making his throat burn instead. He doesn’t even cough though, and for a moment he’s proud of himself, but then there’s nobody around to witness it, so really, even if he coughed, nothing would have changed.

His watch beeps again, this time more urgently. A call. From his mother, the caller ID says. Yata gulps. He watches it ring. Eventually, it stops.

Yata doesn’t talk to his mom anymore. He texts her to let her know he’s still alive, but he never takes her calls. She knows him too well, she would be able to tell instantly that something was wrong, and Yata doesn’t want to talk to her about it. Doesn’t want to explain what happened and acknowledge it as the final truth.

It’s over.

Simple, really, but Yata isn’t done running from it yet. He dumps the rest of his drink into the sink and places the glass next to it without cleaning it up – he can do that tomorrow, or the day after, nobody will notice – and then he’s out the door again.

He locks it, because he knows Kusanagi will kill him if something happens to his bar while he’s away.

A sudden bout of anger surges through Yata at the thought, and he has to use all his willpower to keep himself from punching a hole into the door. Stupid Kusanagi would come back for his shitty bar, but Yata’s obviously not important enough for that.

Instead, he directs his anger into his legs, pushing his skateboard as fast it can go, recklessly driving on the street because he doesn’t have the patience to steer around any pedestrians, even though there’s not many out at this time of day anyway, it’s gotten late without Yata really noticing. If a car hits him, well, so be it. Nobody would care, not even Yata himself. It makes no difference.

Just as he’s back in the street of his apartment, the familiar blue of Scepter 4’s uniform catches his eye, and he reels to a halt.

_Saruhiko._

For a tiny moment, Yata can feel hope flutter in his chest, an old promise resounding in his ears.

_“Here,” Fushimi said, throwing a bottle of soda into Yata’s lap. Normally, Yata would have protested, saying he could pay for his own drinks (even though he always had to sacrifice something else for it, while Fushimi had practically endless amounts of money), but it was his birthday, he could hardly complain about being treated today._

_“This better not be your only present,” he answered instead and Fushimi rolled his eyes at him._

_“Don’t be conceited,” he reprimanded, but as he plopped down next to Yata, he added a quiet “it’s not.”_

_Yata laughed and they drank their sodas together in silence until Yata spoke up again. “But, y’know, sodas are actually seriously uncool.” It only got him a raised eyebrow from Fushimi, but he continued on anyways. “Like, what’s the point of a festive drink if it’s not alcoholic?”_

_Fushimi snorted. “You’re literally fourteen, Misaki. Wait six years, and maybe your body will have grown big enough to accommodate at least a small amount of alcohol.”_

_“Hey,” Yata protested, “I’m gonna hit a growth spurt soon, you’ll see! You’re just jealous because you’re younger than me, so you won’t be able to drink with me even when I turn twenty!”_

_“Don’t worry, I’ll gladly stay sober and record you when you get shitfaced from a single beer.”_

_“I can totally handle it, you’ll see!” Even as they drifted back to their usual bickering, Yata hadn’t failed to pick up on the hidden meaning. “Hey, when I turn twenty… you’ll definitely be there, right? Watch me have my first drink and_ not _get totally shit-faced from it, and I’ll be there a few months later for your birthday and we can drink together.”_

_Fushimi clicked his tongue and looked away, but he grumbled “Obviously,” and that was enough for Yata._

_“It’s a promise, then!”_

“Oooh, you’re not with your hoodlum friends today, Mi~ sa~ ki~?”

Just one sentence, and all of his hope is shattered. That’s an old wound though. He’s used to it. Fushimi wasn’t there for his last birthday either. He’s a traitor. Loyal to that asshole of a Blue King.

It’s not fine, Yata’s not over it, but he just can’t bring himself to care anymore. What does it matter? It’s just one betrayal in a line of many, one broken promise buried under the shards of too many others.

“Stuff it, monkey,” he says, emotionless, “I don’t have time for your gloating. If you got nothing new to say, leave me alone.”

There’s silence, and Fushimi actually looks taken aback a bit, but he catches himself soon enough. Yata waits, to see if Fushimi actually has a reason to be here, if he does care about their promise in the end. Yata would’ve taken it, even if just for today, because he’s just that desperate.

But nothing comes, nothing ever breaks the cycle, and eventually Yata just skates past him and goes home. His apartment is just as he left it, dark, empty and stuffy. He flops on the bed without even changing his clothes, in the hopes that this terrible day is finally over.

Tomorrow won’t be better, but maybe Yata will be less aware of it then.


End file.
